


The Things That Cannot Be Fixed

by debunker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic, Moriarty and Mycroft are ex-lovers, Moriarty's a demon too, Mycroft is being nostalgic, Mycroft's a demon, Sexual Content, Some weird demonic stuff, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debunker/pseuds/debunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a strange fantasy, consider it an AU where Mycroft is a demon and Moriarty is a demon too.<br/>Moriarty has always been good at getting on Mycroft's nerves but this time he has really gone too far. So Mycroft has to do what he has to do even if he still has feelings for Moriarty. And this is not going to be good for Moriarty. This is his ultimate fall from grace.</p><p>Check notes for recommended music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft was sitting in his custom-made armchair with a pleasantly heavy whiskey glass in his hand turning it slightly enjoying the glimpses of fire reflecting in the brown liquor inside it. He rocked slowly his left leg crossed over his right one hearing to the distant sounds of steps coming closer, closer, closer to the massive door. Firm military steps and a hasty shuffle of light shoes against the floor, not really steps, somebody was just trying to walk being dragged by two other men. Mycroft did not try to hide the satisfied smile when the door was shut open and a man was thrown on the carpet at his feet. The door then was shut again and he was left alone in his dark office with the man trying to prop himself up from the floor with his palms. Just like a lizard, Mycroft thought, sly, annoying lizard who does not know to be out of its territorial limits turning its head from the right to the left and back.  
The man was badly injured Mycroft could see, he supposed he was pretty much dumbstruck. Mycroft knew his people were no gentlemen and they were told not to spare this certain man this time. Just to leave him still being able to speak and think properly. The brain, Mycroft thought was the biggest treasure one could have. And as he could see, the world around him was so poor that that he could not help but feel like the king. So sad, those who could at least talk to him knowing what they were speaking about were so few and most of them had such nasty manners which got Mycroft’s temper that their number was unavoidably shrinking. Too bad, tonight there would be one more to eliminate.  
Mycroft put his glass on the table at the side of the armchair caressing slightly its edge with the fingertips, stood up and took a few steps towards the man still not able to lift himself up. Not after what they’ve done to him. Mycroft could see smears of blood he was leaving on his carpet and it really made something stir in his chest. Irritation, perhaps, this boy always leaves dirt wherever he gets to. Bad manners, indeed. Very arrogant.  
He was looking down at him, at his ripped finely tailored suit, at his hands dirty with blood, at his pale face and blood-dripping mouth. A broken nose, perhaps? Would be a pity, Mycroft thought, he could not help but appreciate handsome faces.  
Without hesitation he lifted his foot and pushed it against the lying man’s neck making his face smash against the floor with a wet rustle. He heard the man’s breath stopped for a second and then a low sound came out of his mouth as if a balloon had been pierced and the air had been leaving it. Mycroft puckered up a little and cocked his head up. With the slightest gesture he made the air vibrate intensely lifting the man up from the floor putting him upright in front of Mycroft. The man would not be able to stand on his feet so Mycroft really needed to make him levitate a little. He did not enjoy all those silly tricks even he was capable of doing them. He was always annoyed by how the dark side was represented in the films and books and art in general. Like cheap illusionists. Poor people, they don’t really know what power is and they have to invent these things to explain to themselves the existence of something bigger. Mycroft knew power and had it and it was worse than they could have imagined.  
He gazed reflectively at the broken man’s face really questioning himself whether this face was worth keeping him for. He used to like it so much, such a pretty rent boy he used to be. Quite some time ago yes, but still the memories were vivid. This young devil used to be so unprotected, so torn apart by all those willing to take a piece of him. Mycroft was his best option ever. He was good to him, he was generous, he gave him all the power he could handle but he was greedy and kept asking for more and more and more. Giving the same but asking for more. So Mycroft had to let him go as keeping him was getting more and more troublesome. He let him go and did not hope for gratitude. But what he got was so much worse than a simple absence of gratitude: it was neglect, the nasty obstinacy in complicating the course of his work and life.  
But stirring around Sherlock was really a bad, bad idea. Stirring around Sherlock and teasing Mycroft with stupid threats of revealing their past connection. As if it could give him any power over Mycroft. He did not like though that Sherlock was involved. If he came to know certain things Mycroft would have to explain something to him to prevent him from prying into Mycroft’s affairs. Sherlock was not entirely aware of who he was, he just would get it, he thought power was just power with nothing supernatural behind it and Mycroft was reluctant to make him believe otherwise.  
So today Mycroft felt it was time to put an end to this annoying game. Probably he would have enjoyed it had he a proper adversary but he did not.  
He cocked his head to the side and the man’s throat started squeezing tighter cutting out the breath.  
\- Say your name, - Mycroft’s voice was somewhat calm, regal. It announced the hour of justice.  
\- No, please, no, not thissss, - the man hissed as his throat was getting thin like a tap. – Pliiisss…  
\- Say. Your. Name. – Mycroft just wanted it to be up to the rules, he had to acknowledge first what would have been taken away from him soon. – I gave it to you, now you have to give it back.  
The man was looking at him with a plea, his bloodless lips on the smashed face could hardly move, his eyes closing.  
\- Hurry up. – Mycroft folded his arms.  
\- Mo…ri-aaaa..r..ty… - the air seemed to have gone completely out of his chest.  
\- That’s right. Moriarty. So, now formally you don’t own it any longer. I do. – And Mycroft let him breath in letting him down to the floor where Moriarty fell on his knees coughing dreadfully massaging his neck.  
\- And I can do whatever I like with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing Moriarty like this, ruined at his feet made Mycroft feel a strange pang in his heart: he remembered the time there were cheerful reasons for Moriarty to lower himself like that. Those weekends in his summer residence outside London, they would spend them making certain things that could not be told.  
Moriarty sensed it too, and he shifted a little towards Mycroft, hoping to get a glimpse of mercy. He touched Mycroft’s trousers with his fingertips, his mouth was trembling, a beg stuck in his aching throat.  
\- If you like, - Moriarty whispered slowly with caution testing the waters, - I could…, - his fingers brushing closer to Mycroft’s knee.  
\- Jim, look at you. You’re a mess. Who’d want to? – Mycroft stepped back. He scanned him with satisfaction.  
Ah, this little whore, always ready to offer himself when he knows it may be in his favour. Such a pity it’s too late. His fucking around has played much against him. Sherlock comprised. Ah, boys enjoying themselves, pretty young boys, actually aroused and liking each other. Not like it was with him. He feared asking the question whether Jim felt anything for him the time they spent almost every night together. He tried to convince himself it was of no relevance. But he suddenly felt so jealous, so bitterly disappointed and angry. Mostly with himself. That was not a good calculation for such an old entity he was. This ancient power he had, he should have used it better.  
Moriarty felt that mood shift in Mycroft. He knew him well, he got to know him better since he’s walked away from him. And his eyes turning the blackest black, no hint of light, no gaze in them could only mean one thing and Moriarty knew it was rage. He knew this was last chance if he still had one. He would have never traded sex if he knew there was any real salvation but this time he feared there was none. He knew it from the way he had been beaten. They almost did not care to keep him alive, it felt like an option, not a good reason to be careful.  
\- I know I look so bad, - Moriarty squeezed his broken mouth into a contorted smile. – But I could relieve you of looking in my face. – And he stirred meaningfully stretching his legs to stand on his hands and knees. – You could enjoy it. Remember? – his voice was going lower, his swollen eyes were looking tentatively into Mycroft’s still blank face.  
Mycroft did remember. Of course, he did. Jim was always an eager fuck, such a ready boy he used to be. Could it all have been an attempt to manipulate Mycroft? This beautiful mouth, the sculptured face, his slender body, hot and responsive, was it all true? Was it honest?  
Mycroft had no intention to go down memory lane, it was not appropriate.  
With a nod he made Moriarty stand up shaking and head to Mycroft’s desk where he placed himself with his hands against its polished surface spreading his legs.  
That was somewhat a sad sight to Mycroft. Here we go, he thought, trying to fix what cannot be fixed.  
But Mycroft knew possibilities were given to be taken. He used to repeat it to Moriarty who seemed to have learnt it and put it to use.  
So he intended to take his chance now, and no, no condition was going to stop him. Considering then Moriarty proposed it, he almost begged for it.  
Moriarty shuddered uncontrollably with each Mycroft’s step as he heard him coming closer. When Mycroft put his hands on his shoulders Moriarty almost wanted to touch them as he used to. He almost wanted to tell him to stop it, to say he was sorry and he had learnt the lesson but the tight clench of Mycroft’s hands told him it was not the most brilliant idea. He only hoped Mycroft’s ever burning lust would have saved him. He knew Mycroft craved his body, he would spare him, he could not do a different thing.  
Mycroft stood like that behind him holding his shoulders and then gradually his grip loosened and he made his hands slid long Moriarty’s back to his hips. He felt the familiar shape under his palms, the thin fabric of Moriarty’s now damaged suit and shirt let him sense his warmth. He loved his smell, he still did. Jim was always properly trimmed, poshy, only his manners would always let him down. But now it was not important.  
He let his hands slid down to open Jim’s belt and trousers and lower them down with his underwear. He was not hard and he should certainly be feeling bad about it as his erection was always his best card. Mycroft touched him tenderly just to remember the feeling of his skin, knowing he would not be able to do it after. He brought himself closer gliding his hands over Moriarty’s small of the back. He squeezed lightly his buttocks and patted the right one. Then he took his stamp from his desk, opened it and pushed it hard against Moriarty’s skin on top of his arse. Moriarty screamed weakly and clenched his fists crushing them against the desk. Lazy smoke was going out from under the stamp, the smell of burnt skin filled Mycroft’s nostrils and caressed his palate. Mycroft moved his hand lifting the stamp up. Now Moriarty would never feel anything again, not his skin nor his whole body, senses did not exist for him any longer. He looked lovingly at the red stamp impression with pieces of skin detached. “Mycroft Holmes” it read.  
He passed his fingertips over the red spot, feeling the uneven flesh under his touch still hot and pulsing. It felt like some kind of closure for him. The acknowledgment of his right. He felt Jim under him numb and stiff. He was losing all his senses, his body left between life and death. His mind was still active and he could not believe Mycroft actually did what he did. He could have never predicted this could happen. He was sure Mycroft’s love for him would stop him but it did not. Was Jim wrong in his calculations? Was it the end game for him? He did not feel his hands and feet anymore, he was turning blind, his ears deaf, his mouth could not taste his own saliva.  
When Mycroft slid his cock into Jim he had to close his eyes for a moment, the sensation was familiar, so intimate, it made Mycroft’s throat clench. It was bittersweet, the farewell lovemaking they never had, the goodbye letter Mycroft never read. He knew that literally was the last time. Moving his hips against Moriarty’s thighs he could not help but caress him, first slightly, tracing invisible lines long his back and hips, touching his neck, his hair. Mycroft almost could not feel pleasure, emotions overwhelmed him, pushing aside the physical sensation. It felt like a dream he was waken up from and he never saw finished and now he had a chance to come back and complete it. Jim was like a marionette in his hands, he was still hot inside but manifested no sign of reaction.  
When Mycroft slowly pushed inside him his second cock Jim only gasped a little, he could hardly feel any pain or pleasure, life fading in him like a candle burning down in a glass candle holder. Mycroft was holding him tenderly moving slowly feeling Moriarty’s body soft and almost boneless in his arms. He caressed his chest and his face, Jim’s skin turning back to normal under his touch. Mycroft just wanted to look at him for the last time and remember his beauty, he would cherish this memory. When he felt he was getting close to the end and his third cock entered Moriarty’s atrociously stretched opening he kept him pressed to his chest, almost without moving, just making slight little moves, almost rocking Moriarty in his hands.  
\- There, Jim, remember you want to see my trident and I was telling you it was not the right time. Well, Jim, today is the time. – Mycroft brushed his lips over Moriarty’s hair, inhaling his smell, running kisses over his head.  
He came hard and burning, making his lover’s body shake as if it was hit by a disastrous wave. A silver liquid was running, dripping out of Moriarty’s eyes, ears, nose, mouth. His existence was leaving his body, just a shell with no filler. All his memories, all his power, all his devilish essence were taken away by the creature who reined it all.  
With each jolt Moriarty’s mind was getting more and more clouded. He watched the sky with his blind eyes and he could see it turning grey, from steel grey to asphalt grey to almost black. He could not really feel anything but he somehow perceived emptiness. He closed his eyes and opened his arms embracing it, grabbing nothing but an abyss. And he was going down down down in it… No more games, no more fear, no more losing. All gone.  
Mycroft was still for some time, holding Jim’s now useless body. His eyes were closed, he felt void. He retracted with difficulty, his form and body turning to normal, no demonic features could be seen now. He was standing there over Moriarty’s body spread on his desk, silver drops and poodles all over the place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft wants to spend some time with Moriarty before he goes forever.

Mycroft looked down on Moriarty’s still body bent over the table. What is he going to do with it? Shall he burn it in his fireplace as he is supposed to do with declassed demons sending their ashes over the border of this world?  
Mycroft slowly caressed his lover’s fading skin, tracing his fingers over his neck and down the shoulder. He remembered him so pretty, young, hungry, ready to snap the world. And now he was just a shell without anything left inside, not a desire to play with. Mycroft suddenly saw himself with the eyes of a stranger: such a nostalgic aging man, reluctant to let go. But he can afford it, a whimsical moment like that.  
\- Time to bathe, love. – Mycroft’s voice was almost tender as he took his lover’s body in his arms with no visible effort.  
Obviously he could have made him levitate and use his power to bring him up and down undressing him before putting him in a luxurious bathtub but Mycroft felt he owed him something even if Moriarty could feel nothing. Mycroft rolled up the sleeves of his very fine shirt staring intensely at Moriarty’s face trying to remember every trace in detail. Then he slowly made Jim’s irresponsive body sink into the lukewarm water and took a sponge, holding Moriarty’s head up with one hand preventing it from going under water. He squeezed the sponge above his hair making the water run down Moriarty’s dark hair bringing strands down Moriarty’s face and shoulders dissolving themselves in the water he was lying in. Soon the colours got more intense as he proceeded to wash carefully all of his lover’s body lulling him a little like a baby. His hands moved slowly following Moriarty’s shape, the outline of his chest and belly sinking down in between his hips where Mycroft’s hand paused touching lightly the part he loved, he craved so much, the contour of his legs, his whole form. When Jim was clean and his cool skin got a little bit more warm with his eyes still closed and his face blank as before Mycroft wrapped him in a huge bathrobe. He splashed the water all around pulling Jim out of the bathtub and it was unusual for him to make such a mess anywhere but when Jim’s head lied over his should he got so overwhelmed by tenderness for a moment he almost lost his balance. Stepping carefully not to slip on the puddles left on the marble floor of the bathroom he brought Moriarty to the bedroom. The dim light inside it was smoothing the lines on his tired face. As he watched Moriarty’s head resting against the pillows Mycroft felt a pang of sweet, nostalgic pain. This is the ultimate farewell. Letting go a whole part of his history, even if he did not like to admit it.  
He sat on the edge of the bed spreading the folds of Moriarty’s bathrobe putting them in place. Such a pale face against the grey piece framed with black hair still soaking wet. He placed his palm over Moriarty’s chest counting his heartbeats. One… two… three… The slowing rhythm, the fading sound.  
Mycroft felt so sleepy, the passed day heavy on his shoulders. He stretched his neck, the eyelids half-closed. His head seemed to be made of lead. He desperately wanted to lie down next to Moriarty. And he did.  
There was no noise coming inside from the streets, the sound proofed walls created some kind of room out of time and space making Mycroft’s thoughts drift towards his past. He pulled himself closer to Moriarty holding him tenderly. He made the tip of his nose brush against Moriarty’s face inhaling his fading smell. He pictured Moriarty’s face some years back, adoring and absorbed with Mycroft’s words. He used to be such an attentive listener.  
\- Oh, Jim… - Mycroft’s eyes were completely closed now, his lips touching lightly Jim’s forehead moving down his face in an attempt to remember how it felt.  
He could never see this coming, him revealing himself so attached to that piece of the past life. He felt incredibly sad and strangely happy with all those memories they shared. He did not even register the minute when his muttering mouth laid over Moriarty’s lifeless lips in a farewell kiss. His hands were shaking a little, clutching the folds of Moriarty’s bathrobe keeping his body pressed against Mycroft’s. He could feel him suddenly moving slightly shifting himself towards Mycroft, his hands brushing slowly against Mycroft’s chest. Oh, Mycroft thought, how incredibly silly. It took his breath away for a moment, to think Jim could be kissing him back. He deepened the kiss desperately trying to get more of his taste and felt like his own breath was sucked out of him. His lungs were getting heavy and shrunk. This is not good for me, Mycroft thought, too much involvement. He opened his eyes determined to back away only to meet Moriarty’s intense gaze. The dark shiny eyes were studying him with utter surprise.  
\- How off guard of you Mycroft. – Moriarty’s voice pierced him like a venomous sting. – Don’t you remember you can bring me back literally breathing life back into my lungs?  
Moriarty promptly propped himself up leaving the astonished Mycroft lying on the bed.  
\- Don’t you remember, - Moriarty went down on the floor and was tightening the knot on his belt, - caring is not an advantage?  
Mycroft did not change his pose but flicked his finger towards Moriarty.  
\- I can deprive you of everything. Literally everything.  
\- I know, - Moriarty put his hands in his pockets, - you’ve tried to. But you see, - he bent over to bring his face closer to Mycroft’s staring cockily into his angry eyes, - you failed. And this was your choice. So…. I gotta go now. – And he headed towards the door without hesitation and without Mycroft stopping him.  
\- I can always reach you!  
\- Baaaai! – Moriarty sang in a mockingly high pitch pulling the door handle. – See ya!...  
The door shut with a loud noise and Mycroft puckered up. He looked at the dark stain on the pillow left by Moriarty’s wet hair. Always leaving mess behind, he thought, always, never changing.

**Author's Note:**

> Love Should - Moby


End file.
